with seth in tow, we departed early yesterday morning from bangalore on a long bus ride to the town of mysore. there is a whomping big palace there that they light up at night with about a million incandescent lights. nice to look at, and the street food leading up to the palace is to die for. seriously, readers: when in india (or any country for that matter) go street food. it's cheap, usually fried (read: safe to eat) and it's what the locals eat which means your getting a little culture, too. one more masala dosa or thali with white rice and i'm not going to be pleasant to be around.
we also, at eliot's behest, visited the rail muesem which was dull beyond words. there was a big saloon car that was pretty neat. if you've ever been to see THE THING in arizona, it's a lot like that. but no car hitler owned. or, you know, a MYSTERIOUS THING. a little fed up with crowds, pollution and honking horns, we headed for the evergreen-laden mountain resort of ooty ...
... only to find crowds pollution and honking horns. now granted, the accomodations here are excellent (YWCA for the win), the temperature is downright cool and there are tons of big trees around the lake; but there is still garbage everywhere, pushy hotel barkers and the otherwise lovely lake smells not-so-good. sometimes these indian towns can be a real bummer. there's nice stuff here to be sure, like the tiger reserve we drove through on the way here. we got to see wild peacocks, elephants and monkeys. but even there, the peope through their garbage everywhere. call me an ignorant white male, call me pretencious, hell call me that most begrudged world in the travel community - American - but listen to me: India has got a SERIOUS culture surrounding littering, garbage burning and polution in general that needs to be reigned in NOW. if this place is going to the most populous nation on earth (it will) and one of the most powerful (that too), it's got to do something about a billion peope who urinate and spit anywhere they please and chuck their garbage into rivers flowing through nature preserves. it's cultural, it's systemic and it's pandemic. there, i said my peace.
all of that having been said, each place has redeeming qualities. no, i'll say that another way: most places we've visited have had such an abundance of cool and kindness that it overshadows these other problems. i don't care how crappy Alibag ever gets, The Goddess and Kunal will always provide enough kindness and heart to overtake it (Alibag's actually really nice, just making a point here). Bangalore has horrible traffic - so does Dallas. I have friends in both cities that make them worth putting up with. Wherever there are people, there will be garbage and waste. But there's also hope and family and food - and that makes it worth while. Failure to bend with the bad, means failure to thrive with the good.
moving on, we're going to get up in the hills around ooty tomorrow and hopefully do some serious hiking. being away from my bike for the last 5 days or so has me feeling restless. i started a workout regime just to fill the lack of energetic activity. i am getting lots of good pictures now that we're on foot. next time i hit the internet cafe, i'll bring the cable for my phone and load up the pics.
the two-to-three week culture shock thing has worn off which is nice. for those who have travelled for long periods of time before, you'll probably remember hearing the following timeline as standard traveller psychosis: weeks 1-2, absolute bliss and adventure; week 2.5-3 culture shock; week 3-4 adjustment; week 4+ engrained, calloused. 3 weeks to a month is a perfect time for a vacation. as of tomorrow, i've been out of the country exactly 1 month. starting to wear thin around the edges. things here are still amazing, and the feeling is to be expected. but i miss some creature comforts, food and friends. would i trade those things for the freedom and adventure of the rambling road? today, perhaps. yesterday, certainly. tomorrow? we'll see.
Showing posts with label a lesson is learned. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a lesson is learned. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Go-Go Gadget Goa
Arise with the sunrise, as per usual, and leave the so-and-so hotel in so-and-so town. in just one or two days we would be in panji in goa. if we were to meet the alscasians, we would have to hurry. we made good time in the morning, cover about 30km in two hours. we managed to convine one of the three-wheeled truck wallas to give us a ride in the bed of his vehicle and covered about 15km before being dropped in the historic city of Savantvadi. ithe beautiful town is situated around a lake with many shops, fine bridges and old fortifications. if you have the time, stop over. worth a tourist photo or two.
from there, the weather had heated up, so the ride got much tougher. fortunately we hit a big hill and after some rugged climbing, hit the top and began the cruise down. zipping through the narrow bends of the downhill pass brought a welcome breeze to our sun-scorched bodies and we spent several minutes relishing the feeling as we dodged fully-laden trucks, motorcycles, potholes and monkeys on the road. seriously, folks: if you have the means, you must come bike the western ghats. the insane up hills are worth it for the equally insane downhills. do as i say, not as i do - wear a helmet.
unfortunately, the other side of the hill was even hotter. as we battled ever-rising heat with ever decreasing shade, we pumped the pedals to blow through a series of small towns before enthusiatic holi participants could get their toxin-stained little mits on us. we cross the border into goa about 13:00. no shade, few trees and a searing 95 degree heat meant we were in for a tough ride, slow going and potentially dangerous camping. being a tent with unguarded bikes in a snady expanse is a good way to attract snakes, bugs and bandits - a term i had never heard used seriously or literally until i came here.
fortunately, we flagged downa goods carrier truck. a couple of young guys let us stow the bikes above the cab, as we rode inside with the bags. they took us the remaining 40km to panaji, but not before we were stopped at a police check point and your old pal drew was called in to talk to the cops. i spent a tense 10 seconds staring at an indian police customs agent- nototriously corrupt dudes - hastily answering questions before he asked the truckers for 50Rs in "baksheesh" (bribe) before letting us go. whew.
in the end, the truckers were nice guys but their one long nail, gaunt looks and insistence that we pay them more than the ride was worth left us feeling a bit uneasy. to be honest, they are probably only slightly crooked, like much of the infastructure of the country. we arrived safely and reminded ourselves that even though things were fine and safe, in teh future we should barter more and discuss pricing and stuff up front. back-ending your transactions is a good way to get overcharged. there was never any fear that these guys would harm us or steal outright from us - that sort of thing is extremely rare here. but still, be careful. again, do as i say, not as i do - i trust myself and i trust eliot so i know that in a scrap, we'll deal and be fine. but in your travels, exercise caution when doing dumb gringo stuff like taking a ride with strangers.
a new lesson learned, we loaded up and headed into panaji. the former protuguese stronghold feels just like a tiny european town, complete with tiles rooftop cafes, winding streets and a heavily trafficed waterfront. finding a great room (Rs.600 for two nights! safe, secure, great windows, good beds - tourism definetly drives prices down!), we spent the night visiting a book store, watching a thousand-person street festival and then heading back to the room for a kingfisher, a little BBC world service (such a a treat!) and a good rest. i nod off to the breeze billowing our curtain, the sounds of the city dying under the police curfew and the knowledge that tomorrow, for the first time the trip started, i can sleep in ...
from there, the weather had heated up, so the ride got much tougher. fortunately we hit a big hill and after some rugged climbing, hit the top and began the cruise down. zipping through the narrow bends of the downhill pass brought a welcome breeze to our sun-scorched bodies and we spent several minutes relishing the feeling as we dodged fully-laden trucks, motorcycles, potholes and monkeys on the road. seriously, folks: if you have the means, you must come bike the western ghats. the insane up hills are worth it for the equally insane downhills. do as i say, not as i do - wear a helmet.
unfortunately, the other side of the hill was even hotter. as we battled ever-rising heat with ever decreasing shade, we pumped the pedals to blow through a series of small towns before enthusiatic holi participants could get their toxin-stained little mits on us. we cross the border into goa about 13:00. no shade, few trees and a searing 95 degree heat meant we were in for a tough ride, slow going and potentially dangerous camping. being a tent with unguarded bikes in a snady expanse is a good way to attract snakes, bugs and bandits - a term i had never heard used seriously or literally until i came here.
fortunately, we flagged downa goods carrier truck. a couple of young guys let us stow the bikes above the cab, as we rode inside with the bags. they took us the remaining 40km to panaji, but not before we were stopped at a police check point and your old pal drew was called in to talk to the cops. i spent a tense 10 seconds staring at an indian police customs agent- nototriously corrupt dudes - hastily answering questions before he asked the truckers for 50Rs in "baksheesh" (bribe) before letting us go. whew.
in the end, the truckers were nice guys but their one long nail, gaunt looks and insistence that we pay them more than the ride was worth left us feeling a bit uneasy. to be honest, they are probably only slightly crooked, like much of the infastructure of the country. we arrived safely and reminded ourselves that even though things were fine and safe, in teh future we should barter more and discuss pricing and stuff up front. back-ending your transactions is a good way to get overcharged. there was never any fear that these guys would harm us or steal outright from us - that sort of thing is extremely rare here. but still, be careful. again, do as i say, not as i do - i trust myself and i trust eliot so i know that in a scrap, we'll deal and be fine. but in your travels, exercise caution when doing dumb gringo stuff like taking a ride with strangers.
a new lesson learned, we loaded up and headed into panaji. the former protuguese stronghold feels just like a tiny european town, complete with tiles rooftop cafes, winding streets and a heavily trafficed waterfront. finding a great room (Rs.600 for two nights! safe, secure, great windows, good beds - tourism definetly drives prices down!), we spent the night visiting a book store, watching a thousand-person street festival and then heading back to the room for a kingfisher, a little BBC world service (such a a treat!) and a good rest. i nod off to the breeze billowing our curtain, the sounds of the city dying under the police curfew and the knowledge that tomorrow, for the first time the trip started, i can sleep in ...
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
maharastra by bus
yesterday we awoke on the beach, packed up and made tracks to Srivrahndan. after breakfast and water refill, we found out that we could on, in fact, take a ferry accross the creek to continue south but had to catch a mus to mahad and from there get a bus to Diapoli.
a quick note: the guide books don't mention Srivrahdan, but it is one of the cleanest, most organized and friendliest littles towns we're visited. eager help from the locals, great chai, cheap eats and a pristine hidden beach just 1 km from the roundabout at the big tree. we got the impression that tourist very extremely rare. we were treated with exceptional care, but the gem is the town itself: clean streest, wide ravines running infront of each well kept house. idyllic. if you happen to be in the area, check it out. the beach would be perfect for camping and i'm sure the locals would oblige. highly recommended.
we bused to mahad and waited for two hours for the next bus which too us to Ratnigir in four hours. we opted to use bus travel as both a day of rest from the four previous days of 6-9 hours biking, and a good way to cover difficult terrain quickly. in all we made it 100km down the coast.
the nightbus was terrifying and exciting. no lights, inside the bus or on the road it seemed. occasionally the headlights of an oncoming cargo truck, a snap swerve to avoid the collision, skirting a cliff gave and then back to total darkness. eliot and i opted to listen to music through earphones to keep ourselves distracted.
we got off the bus in Ratnigiri with no idea of where to stay or go. in the dim mercury-lamp glow of the bus station parking lot we loaded up the bikes, stray dogs and znoozing beggars watching. we were hopeful - if our time here in india has taught us anything, it's that when you hit bottom, india will provide something for you. you must have faith that thigns will be okay, and then they will be. so, with trepedation we put our feet to the pedals. rats scattered. dogs and cows featsted together on waste and trash in the streets, as we headed into the Ratnigiri night.
... only to hear a familiar voice calling "Hello, my friends!" we looked over to find Daniel, our Alsacian friend from the previous morning standing before a hotel not 30 yards from the bus station, lazily pulling on a cigarette with two friends. he tells us that he's staying in the hotel there, very cheap and clean, convenient and safe. we pull in, pay a scant 416Rs and head around the corner and up some stairs into a shady, blown out bar where we pick up a couple bottles of beer. back in Daniel's room, we sit on the balcony over looking the closed shops and the streets full of grabage and smelling of human and animal waste. we spend the rest of the evening there, talking politics, film and wine over kingfisher beer and beedies. the whole time we shake our heads and think "what are the odds?"
india is magic.
a quick note: the guide books don't mention Srivrahdan, but it is one of the cleanest, most organized and friendliest littles towns we're visited. eager help from the locals, great chai, cheap eats and a pristine hidden beach just 1 km from the roundabout at the big tree. we got the impression that tourist very extremely rare. we were treated with exceptional care, but the gem is the town itself: clean streest, wide ravines running infront of each well kept house. idyllic. if you happen to be in the area, check it out. the beach would be perfect for camping and i'm sure the locals would oblige. highly recommended.
we bused to mahad and waited for two hours for the next bus which too us to Ratnigir in four hours. we opted to use bus travel as both a day of rest from the four previous days of 6-9 hours biking, and a good way to cover difficult terrain quickly. in all we made it 100km down the coast.
the nightbus was terrifying and exciting. no lights, inside the bus or on the road it seemed. occasionally the headlights of an oncoming cargo truck, a snap swerve to avoid the collision, skirting a cliff gave and then back to total darkness. eliot and i opted to listen to music through earphones to keep ourselves distracted.
we got off the bus in Ratnigiri with no idea of where to stay or go. in the dim mercury-lamp glow of the bus station parking lot we loaded up the bikes, stray dogs and znoozing beggars watching. we were hopeful - if our time here in india has taught us anything, it's that when you hit bottom, india will provide something for you. you must have faith that thigns will be okay, and then they will be. so, with trepedation we put our feet to the pedals. rats scattered. dogs and cows featsted together on waste and trash in the streets, as we headed into the Ratnigiri night.
... only to hear a familiar voice calling "Hello, my friends!" we looked over to find Daniel, our Alsacian friend from the previous morning standing before a hotel not 30 yards from the bus station, lazily pulling on a cigarette with two friends. he tells us that he's staying in the hotel there, very cheap and clean, convenient and safe. we pull in, pay a scant 416Rs and head around the corner and up some stairs into a shady, blown out bar where we pick up a couple bottles of beer. back in Daniel's room, we sit on the balcony over looking the closed shops and the streets full of grabage and smelling of human and animal waste. we spend the rest of the evening there, talking politics, film and wine over kingfisher beer and beedies. the whole time we shake our heads and think "what are the odds?"
india is magic.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Hell and Heaven, all in one day
So much can happen in one day. After a rough, hot and dusty exit out of central Mumbai (thanks Anjali Inn), we turned south to head towards Murud, on the Konkan coast, and eventually to Goa.
Let me (Eliot Spencer Murray) tell you, folks, I will often dilute the severity of my bad experiences for the sake of saving face and sustaining pleasantries, but by God, not today. I have absolutely no druthers about saying how hot and blankety-blank miserable I was for most of our 2nd day ride. Cycling along H-17 (good road), I was so hot that I felt like my skin was going to crinkle up and fall off like a burning marshmallow over the fire. Every hill was a battle, every valley a small but futile victory. Rarely have I been this hot while simultaneously exercising for so many miles at a time. I am from Oregon, after all. It was like having no lung power, leg power, stamina, energy, nothing, and constantly on the verge of collapse or barfing. Even a delicious fresh cut pineapple (thanks, Drew) did little to stave off the pain. In short, it totally, totally sucked.
Drew, native of south Texas (long live the mighty state), was having little difficulty, and was rather enjoying the furnace as we rode along. I now realize it was heat stroke, plain and simple. Suck-y. Also, having cotton pants on over my bike shorts, shoes and socks and a cotton shirt in 100 degree inland desert weather was, in fact stupid. My aim to not cause offense to the rural folks we rode past was in vain. We stood out so much, a little bike short action probably wouldn't make much difference to any conservative farmers (later I learned to not care, since the lack of cotton pants makes a MEGA difference).
Anyhow, we (read: I) limped like an injured duck to the town of Pen and agreed (read: I said I am going to die unless...) we should go to the coast by bus, as cycling more of the heat was a sure death race. Saints be praised, we did. Popping our bikes atop a dilapidated bus, we chunked down the road a piece to Alibad, where the coastal breeze met us once again and life resumed for my body. I could feel the heat dissipating and the panic level simmering down to normal operating levels. It was bad, man; I had that dreadful thought inside myself for just a moment - "Jesus, what have I done? I'm nearly dead on the 2nd day of cycling? Am I just a total wuss, or have I damned myself? Am I going to have to give up NOW?? And why the hell isn't Drew suffering like a rotisserie pig, like me??!"
I learned that, despite how bad things seem at the moment, if you persevere and aim for what you need, you'll probably get it. In addition, we both learned that Indian hospitality really does know no bounds, as evidenced by our most excellent and gracious experience with Mr Kunal and his family in Alibad. But that's for another post.
Let me (Eliot Spencer Murray) tell you, folks, I will often dilute the severity of my bad experiences for the sake of saving face and sustaining pleasantries, but by God, not today. I have absolutely no druthers about saying how hot and blankety-blank miserable I was for most of our 2nd day ride. Cycling along H-17 (good road), I was so hot that I felt like my skin was going to crinkle up and fall off like a burning marshmallow over the fire. Every hill was a battle, every valley a small but futile victory. Rarely have I been this hot while simultaneously exercising for so many miles at a time. I am from Oregon, after all. It was like having no lung power, leg power, stamina, energy, nothing, and constantly on the verge of collapse or barfing. Even a delicious fresh cut pineapple (thanks, Drew) did little to stave off the pain. In short, it totally, totally sucked.
Drew, native of south Texas (long live the mighty state), was having little difficulty, and was rather enjoying the furnace as we rode along. I now realize it was heat stroke, plain and simple. Suck-y. Also, having cotton pants on over my bike shorts, shoes and socks and a cotton shirt in 100 degree inland desert weather was, in fact stupid. My aim to not cause offense to the rural folks we rode past was in vain. We stood out so much, a little bike short action probably wouldn't make much difference to any conservative farmers (later I learned to not care, since the lack of cotton pants makes a MEGA difference).
Anyhow, we (read: I) limped like an injured duck to the town of Pen and agreed (read: I said I am going to die unless...) we should go to the coast by bus, as cycling more of the heat was a sure death race. Saints be praised, we did. Popping our bikes atop a dilapidated bus, we chunked down the road a piece to Alibad, where the coastal breeze met us once again and life resumed for my body. I could feel the heat dissipating and the panic level simmering down to normal operating levels. It was bad, man; I had that dreadful thought inside myself for just a moment - "Jesus, what have I done? I'm nearly dead on the 2nd day of cycling? Am I just a total wuss, or have I damned myself? Am I going to have to give up NOW?? And why the hell isn't Drew suffering like a rotisserie pig, like me??!"
I learned that, despite how bad things seem at the moment, if you persevere and aim for what you need, you'll probably get it. In addition, we both learned that Indian hospitality really does know no bounds, as evidenced by our most excellent and gracious experience with Mr Kunal and his family in Alibad. But that's for another post.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Aneel and Co.
Stayed up last night working on the bikes and getting them ready for the exodus. About 1:45am there was a knock at the door. Aneel (one of our amazing hosts here at the hotel) saw we were still up, working hard and offered us a beer.
Aneel on the right speaking to Robert. They are either arguing about train protocol or arguing over what food or drink to bring us next.
Drinks in hand we hung out in the lobby with the staff drinking (us) and eating (them). We talked about how all the staff here are Christians, anjeel offered us a home to stay in in mangalore and we chatted about the bizarre rules of cricket. Aneel stated that he wished that he, like Americans, had money to spend on trips to see the world. I countered that while we may have more money in America, Indians have more heart. See for example today's earlier entries. This set anjeel and the staff into smiles of affirmation.
"work is very important here," he said,"and people may not have as much. The expectation is lower, but- as you say - the heart is bigger." We tipped a good rickshaw driver well and got smiles, honks and waves for a block after he let us out. We talked about our trip and interest in India and got maps, heartfelt congratulations and beer. I asked a guy today if someone Was lreparing pan and got two free pieces for me and Eliot and a complete history of the stuff. You give these guys an inch and they hand you back a foot. Is there crimeand poverty and sickness and complete injustice here? Uniquivically yes. But here also lies a working system of people who genuinely, truly have enormous hearts capable of service and laughter that breaks the scale.
Especially coming from Dubai, this place seemed shockingly poor, destitute and, yes, seriously dangerous. It is all of those things but much more too. Here lies the heart of the Buddha, the Vajra Sword, the Wisdom of Genesha, the Power of Allah, and the Spirit of Christ.
Aneel on the right speaking to Robert. They are either arguing about train protocol or arguing over what food or drink to bring us next.
Drinks in hand we hung out in the lobby with the staff drinking (us) and eating (them). We talked about how all the staff here are Christians, anjeel offered us a home to stay in in mangalore and we chatted about the bizarre rules of cricket. Aneel stated that he wished that he, like Americans, had money to spend on trips to see the world. I countered that while we may have more money in America, Indians have more heart. See for example today's earlier entries. This set anjeel and the staff into smiles of affirmation.
"work is very important here," he said,"and people may not have as much. The expectation is lower, but- as you say - the heart is bigger." We tipped a good rickshaw driver well and got smiles, honks and waves for a block after he let us out. We talked about our trip and interest in India and got maps, heartfelt congratulations and beer. I asked a guy today if someone Was lreparing pan and got two free pieces for me and Eliot and a complete history of the stuff. You give these guys an inch and they hand you back a foot. Is there crimeand poverty and sickness and complete injustice here? Uniquivically yes. But here also lies a working system of people who genuinely, truly have enormous hearts capable of service and laughter that breaks the scale.
Especially coming from Dubai, this place seemed shockingly poor, destitute and, yes, seriously dangerous. It is all of those things but much more too. Here lies the heart of the Buddha, the Vajra Sword, the Wisdom of Genesha, the Power of Allah, and the Spirit of Christ.
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